


Shapes

by BeaconHill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Female Harry Potter, Female Tom Riddle, Parseltongue, Politician Albus Dumbledore, Politician Tom Riddle, Politics, Snakes, Transformation, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizengamot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24412006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaconHill/pseuds/BeaconHill
Summary: The most powerful witches and wizards are all Pureshapes, transforming into beautiful, larger-than-life creatures. Most change before their fifteenth birthday, but Harriet Potter is fifteen and one month, and still nothing. Little does she know, becoming a Noshape is not what she needs to be worrying about...
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	1. The First Change

The compartment door slides open, and Draco Malfoy comes sauntering in, a smirk on his face as his flunkies Crabbe and Goyle put on their best glowers behind him. But instead of his usual slicked-back blonde hair, he's strutting around as a giant magical crow, as tall as a first-year, with black feathers and a sharply hooked beak very different from Sirius's gently curved one. Almost a year later and he's still prancing around in his Pureshape form, if only to prove he has it.  
  
It still sends a little pang of jealousy through me.  
  
"What do you want?" I say, not even waiting for him to open his fat beak.  
  
"Manners, Potter," Malfoy says, buffing his prefect badge with the tip of his wing. "Unless you want detention – seeing as how I, unlike you, am a Prefect. Looks like even Dumbledore knows not to give the badge to a Noshape-in-waiting—"  
  
"Shut _up_ ," I say, "or when I get my shape, you'll find out what a dragon can do to a _little bird_."  
  
He sniggers, and it comes out faintly like cawing. "Everyone knows you won't be a dragon, _Podmore_."  
  
"Don't call her that!" says Ron, his face turning red as he scrambles to his feet, gets his wand out as I try to hide my cringe. Potter is my Pureshape father's clan name. I can use it until I turn 17 – but if I don't get a dragon shape like his, I'll have to change it.  
  
"Why not? We all know it's only a matter of time, _Westley_. You're both already fifteen. You're _late_. Even Crabbe and Goyle have their shapes now." They, like most wizards, are Halfshapes, turning into mundane animals, unable to use magic without turning back. And Goyle's a _pig_ – he barely looks different from his human form! "You two are the last ones left out. Such a shame – but not a surprise. Everyone knew it was coming. Not even two years before you're both officially Noshapes. Aren't you petrified?"  
  
"Get lost, Malfoy!" I yell.  
  
"Oh, but it _isn't_ Malfoy any more," he purrs. "It's Draco _Black_ now. My Pureshape clan, like my mother before me."  
  
"Get _out_!" says Hermione, her body changing, shifting into her own shape, the midnight-blue jaguar baring her teeth, just the faintest haze of magic on the air.  
  
"Fine, Granger," Draco scoffs. Even he can't say her name with the dismissiveness and the anger he used to – because it isn't just a Muggle name any longer. Hermione is the first and only member of our trio to get a shape – and it's a new Pureshape form. Her jaguar form is a magical creature, larger than life, and never before seen in Britain. She's the first of her clan – and so the name _Granger_ now means wizarding royalty, just like Black, Malfoy, or Potter.  
  
He flounces out, slamming the door behind him.  
  
~~  
  
I stomp up the steps to my dormitory with Hermione by my side, flop onto my bed. I have stuff to unpack, but honestly, I just want to go to sleep. Lavender and Parvati are already here, Lavender hanging up her enormous mirror while Parvati empties a bag of carved wooden pieces onto her bed.  
  
"Hi, Harriet," says Parvati. "How was your summer?"  
  
"Ugh, the _worst_ ," I say, rolling back out of bed and opening my trunk hard enough that the lid clacks against the wall. "I'll just point out that the Daily Prophet spent all summer smearing me, and let you extrapolate to the _rest_ of my so-called vacation."  
  
"That's not true!" says Lavender, jerking away from her mirror. "The Prophet doesn't smear! They're just reporting the facts!"  
  
"The Prophet published seven hundred and eighty seven lies about me this summer – I counted!" My voice sparkles with faux cheer. "That's eleven lies a day on average, with one day having as many as forty-three separate falsehoods!" I roll my eyes, staring flatly at her. "Really, just read the London Owl. Counting lies and wiping arses are the only things the Prophet's good for these days."  
  
"You're just trying to make excuses after the Prophet _exposed_ you!" Lavender shrieked. "And it's not gonna work!"  
  
"Keep your fat mouth _shut_ about Harry!" says Hermione, raising her wand.  
  
"Lavender!" moans Parvati, looking up from the pieces she's assembling. "You promised you wouldn't fight with Harry and Hermione!"  
  
"That was before Harry decided to mock the Prophet, which in case you forgot _is where my mum works_!" Her voice rises to a shriek at the end.  
  
"Hey, she doesn't write the articles..." I say weakly.  
  
"Shut up, you attention whore!" Lavender turns her nose up at me, then changes into a bunny rabbit, her robes falling to the floor before she hops through the gap in the curtains of her four-poster bed. She sleeps in her shape – almost everyone does, even Halfshapes like her.  
  
"I'm sorry, she's just..." Parvati grimaces, trying to figure out what to say. "I mean, with her mom, y'know..." She brightens up, apparently deciding to just change the subject. "Isn't this pretty?" she asks instead, gesturing to the little wooden thing she'd built – a miniature tree, golden branches spreading out in a fan, sitting atop her bedspread.  
  
"Uh, sure, but what is it?"  
  
"It's a perch!" She smiles almost from ear-to-ear.  
  
"Like for a bird?"  
  
"Yup! I had my change over the summer – look!" She shrinks, her robes falling to the ground like Lavender's had as she turns into a bright pink-and-purple parakeet with a long, colorful tail.  
  
"Wow." I smile at her a little weakly.  
  
"Still a Patil, but at least I'm pretty. I changed a week before my fifteenth birthday – Merlin, was that a relief," she says in a newly musical voice, flying gracefully to her perch – and then she seems to realize something. "Uh... can you close my curtains?"  
  
"Yeah, no problem," I say, waving my wand to close the curtains behind her.  
  
"Thanks, Harry," she says. "Good night!"  
  
"Good night," I echo, but I can't quite keep my weariness out of my voice as I sit down on my bed with a sigh.  
  
"You okay?" Hermione asks, padding up to my bed in her jaguar form. She hops up on the bed to lie down beside me.  
  
"I'm fine," I say, casting a privacy spell with a lazy flick of my wand. "I was expecting someone to believe the Prophet, and Lavender, well, we know her..." I smile at Hermione, and she smiles back up at me. Making fun of Lavender has been a group activity for us since the first week. "It's just... Malfoy was right. I really _am_ the last one who hasn't changed."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Harriet," Hermione says, resting a warm paw on my leg. "I was late too, remember? You're only at fifteen and a month – I didn't change until fifteen and four. I know it must feel awful, with everyone else already changed, but don't forget that you're the youngest of the year. Black was just being an arse like always. Plenty of people change a little late. You still have two years left."  
  
"I know, I'm just... nervous."  
  
"Hey, I was nervous too! More nervous, actually — I mean, a lot of Muggleborn are Noshapes, so your chances are a lot better than mine were."  
  
"You were one of the first, though! And I'm one of the last. There's just something scary about that!"  
  
She doesn't answer – instead, she just leans toward me and licks me right on the face, rough and prickly. I giggle and shove her off. "C'mon, Harry, stop fretting. Can't let it keep you awake – after all, you get your first change in your sleep, right?"  
  
"I guess..." Hermione lets her head fall into my lap, and I scratch behind her ears.  
  
"Go on, Harry," she says. "Go to bed."  
  
"All right," I say with a smile. Hermione nuzzles me, before hopping off, back to her own extra-size bed for the night. She closes her curtains with the quick tug of wandless magic.  
  
I sigh, changing into my pajamas, casting my bedtime spells and then tucking myself in.  
  
Hermione is my best friend. But, sometimes, I'm not totally sure she remembers how gnawing the anxiety is.  
  
Pureshapes like Hermione and Draco are at the top of the Wizarding world. They change shape into magical creatures, larger-than-life and beautiful, able to perform feats of wandless magic unattainable by nearly anyone else. In Britain, they get special rights and privileges – the Wizengamot's Hall of Clans gives Pureshapes control of one house of the legislature. And so many of the greatest witches and wizards are Pureshapes – Albus Dumbledore with his magical lion shape and Lady Voldemort with her dark-scaled basilisk are the stuff of legends.  
  
I always thought I would probably be a Pureshape, because my father was one – James Potter, of the Potter clan, was an actual _dragon_. Big, flying, winged, fire-breathing, _so_ cool. I've been fantasizing about my change ever since I found out I was a witch. My dad used to fly in and out of his dorm through the windows, they say, just as good at Quidditch off his broom as on it. I still _hope_ to be a Potter... but I am starting to worry.  
  
It wouldn't be so bad to be a Halfshape, I suppose. I'd still lose my family name – become _Podmore_ , like Malfoy said – but at least I'd get some respect. Every night, I go to bed hoping for some change – _any_ change. But for some people, it never comes. Most people who will change, do so before their 15th birthday. But it's only at age 17 when you officially become a Noshape. Someone who _can't_ change.  
  
In some circles, just a step above Squibs and Muggles.  
  
I sigh. See, this is what Hermione told me _not_ to do. Improving my magic and growing more powerful _can_ affect my shape. But fretting won't change anything.  
  
I close my eyes and fall quickly asleep.  
  
~~  
  
I wake up already screaming.  
  
It hurts it hurts it _hurts_ like nothing I've ever felt before – like my skin is liquefying, or maybe burning away. Every part of my body from the chest down feels squashed, mushed flat like a cartoon character by an anvil, and I almost think it's a nightmare except even nightmares _never_ hurt this bad!  
  
At first, all I can think is _Voldemort did this_ , but there's no one here – I'm alone in my four-poster bed, thrashing and rolling around almost on automatic. As I start to hear the other girls wake up, I fall out onto the floor, landing with a thump that feels almost comforting in comparison to the agony I'm in.  
  
"Harry?" asks Hermione, springing from her bed as a cat-shaped blur to rest her paw against my chest. "What are you feeling? What's wrong?"  
  
I just gape at her, unable to talk, my mouth just flapping open and shut. Something in my head shifts – _don't look at her!_ says a strange impulse – and I can't close my eyes but I roll myself over, rubbing my nose into the rough wood floor.  
  
"D-do you think she's changing?" asks Lavender uneasily, and some very bitter part of me wants to make a snarky comment about _oh, you didn't care that much before my body caught fire_ if only I could speak. Instead, I just claw at the ground, retching, but nothing comes up.  
  
"I don't know," Hermione says, her voice strained with worry. "The first change always hurts, but... it's not supposed to hurt _this_ much." Her words seem to harden, turning calculated and decisive. "Go get Professor McGonagall," she orders.  
  
I retch again, and this time I vomit – except it's not vomit, it's a gooey yellow-green liquid, and it _hisses_ when it touches the ground, foaming up, a pungent smell wrinkling my nostrils as a thin column of smoke rises.  
  
"Is it eating through the _floor_?" says Parvati, her voice rising to a shriek.  
  
" _Scourgify!_ " casts Hermione, and some of it goes away – but not all of it, and it's still dripping from my mouth and burning a hole in the floor, and she keeps casting it over and over again but it doesn't seem to help much.  
  
My whole lower body is burning now, and that smushed feeling just keeps getting worse and worse until something _snaps_ – bones breaking, my pajama pants shredding – the spring of tension finally releases with a punch that knocks someone off their feet – Parvati shrieks – a strange tingling feeling passes over my whole body from head to toe, and then suddenly, blissfully, everything is normal. I feel good. Soothed, if maybe a little bit cold.  
  
I know... I know something important happened, but I don't have the energy left to know or care what it is. But it's _cold_ here. I'm so, so cold...  
  
I wriggle my way to the fire, curling up in front of the comforting heat and light, and quickly fall back asleep.  
  
~~  
  
I wake again with a start, as though a jolt of electricity had passed through me. I squirm in place, turning my head around, only to see Professor McGonagall pointing a wand in my face.  
  
She's still in her nightgown, and wearing strange mirror glasses that I've never seen her in before. The other girls are gone, and Professor McGonagall looks very, very worried – almost scared. "I'm sorry to wake you, Miss—" Professor McGonagall pauses, grimacing. "Harriet. But it seems as though you had a rather violent first change – are you feeling okay? Any lingering pain, anything seem wrong?"  
  
"So it was a first change then?" I smile – sort of, my mouth doesn't quite feel normal, so I'm not sure what that actually looks like. I can't quite manage the jubilance I might expect, but there's a feeling of warm pride nevertheless. I wiggle around a little, raising my head from the floor. "I feel just fine now, nothing still hurts... though it's weird, I don't quite know how to move, I'm not really finding my limbs here..."  
  
I look back – I'd say over my shoulder, except I don't seem to have shoulders. I don't seem to have... anything, actually, aside from just body, and lots of it, a long winding body curled up untidily in front of the fire.  
  
"Um. Well. I guess I don't have any limbs. So I'm not a Potter, I'm some kind of snake, that's weird... though I guess the Parseltongue makes a lot more sense now. If I'm this big, I must be a Pureshape, but..." I turn back toward Professor McGonagall, my tongue flicking out quizzically. "What am I? Do you know?"  
  
"You... appear to be a basilisk," Professor McGonagall says. "There is only one living basilisk clan, and they look very much like you, so..."  
  
"You think I'm a Gaunt?" I rear back, my mouth falling open in disgust. There's a bitter taste in my mouth that I slowly realize is venom. "Like _Voldemort_?"  
  
"Yes," she says solemnly. "If you like, I can cast the verification spells."  
  
"Do it," I whisper.  
  
She opens a small book – _Pureshape Clans of the British Isles_ – flips to a bookmark, and then mutters a few words at me with a wave of her wand. A white glow surrounds me.  
  
"That's it?" I ask, my voice weak. "That's all there is to it?"  
  
"That's all there is to it," she says. "A positive result. Congratulations, Miss Gaunt."  
  
"T-thank you, I guess," I mutter, lowering my head. Merlin, how did this _happen_? "Do you mind if I, uh..." I bob my head toward Lavender's giant mirror.  
  
"Go ahead," Professor McGonagall says. I slither up to Lavender's giant mirror, and look myself over.  
  
I am a basilisk – no other snake is so large, and the glow of magic in my eyes makes it unmistakable. My scales are almost mirror-polished, sparkling with reflected firelight. They're exactly the same shade of green as my eyes, except for a single scale just above my right eye – where my scar would be – that's a coppery red color. And I have a hood, my neck scales flaring out as a bright, brilliant headdress. My mouth falls open as I gaze at myself in the mirror. I truly am beautiful this way.  
  
It's also clear that I'm powerful. I have to be at least thirty feet long – I'm looking at myself in Lavender's mirror, but my tail is still in front of the fire on the other side of the room. There's a certain expectant feeling in my eyes, hungry magic just waiting for a push, that would unleash my killing gaze. I flick my tongue out, and when it returns to my mouth, I can taste the air in remarkable detail. I extend my enormous fangs, see the yellow-green venom glittering at their tips. And, looking around the room, I realize that I'm seeing something beyond normal vision – passing my eyes over Professor McGonagall, the still-warm beds, and the fire in the hearth, I realize that it's _heat_. Yes, I'm certainly dangerous – I can be _terrifying_ , if I want to be.  
  
Slytherin's Basilisk was almost the same color as me, and only a little larger, but it had no hood and dull scales, wet and glistening, no match for my beauty. No, I've only ever seen one basilisk like me before: Lady Voldemort, the black-and-red scaled basilisk of my nightmares, and her deceptively beautiful copper-scaled alter ego Cecilia Gaunt, a powerful politician. And she's my new clanmate.  
  
I don't want to be connected to her this way. It horrifies me. But when I look in the mirror, I don't see her. I see my own beauty, my own power. My scales sparkle like jewelry, my body moving smoothly and gracefully, in a way that accentuates how dangerous I am. So I can't even begin to care about who my clanmate is. I love my shape.  
  
"Are you ready for me to record your shape?" Professor McGonagall asks. I look over my shoulder to see her taking out a heavy, leatherbound book. I saw it once before – when Hermione changed. The Hogwarts student register, where my shape – my clan – will be recorded.  
  
"Yes," I whisper, lowering my head. This is all happening so fast, it's hard to believe I can really be _ready_ for any of it. But I love what I am. Why wait? "I'm ready. Go ahead."  
  
She opens the book, leafing through it to my page. But the moment she raises her quill, Albus Dumbledore appears in a flash of Phoenix fire. "Hold, Minerva," he says gravely. "I have reason to believe this might not be her true shape."  
  
Professor McGonagall is so flummoxed, she nearly drops the book. "Albus, you know it's impossible to turn someone into a Pureshape, or change their clan! If Miss Gaunt wishes it recorded, there is no _reason_ not to!"  
  
"The injury that Voldemort inflicted upon Harriet is unprecedented," Dumbledore says sagely. "Their connection is without comparison. We already believe it made her a Parselmouth. Is it so surprising that it made her a Gaunt, too?"  
  
"It didn't," says a voice from the stairwell. I turn, flinching, to see Professor Severus Prince, the horrible Slytherin potions master, looking almost normal despite it being four in the morning. He strides into the room with his cloak billowing behind him, eyes fixed on Professor Dumbledore. "It's hereditary. Her mother was a Gaunt." He turns to look at me, a glare in his eyes – and then he freezes, dead still, just staring at me. "You look just like her," he whispers, sounding oddly vulnerable.  
  
"My _mother_?" I whisper, my head tilting almost to 45 degrees. "How?" I ask, my voice breathless. "Everyone said she was a Noshape!"  
  
"She hid it," Professor Prince says, not quite making eye contact with me.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me this?" Dumbledore says, a certain rumbling in the words.  
  
"Lily asked me to keep her shape secret," Prince says, his usual coldness returning in force. "Clearly, _she_ never trusted you with it. And I didn't think it mattered. With how much Pot— _Harriet_ takes after her father, I thought she'd either be a Potter or nothing." His gaze returns to me, though never quite directly at me, skimming across my scales like he's worried he'll die if he looks at me straight on. "I certainly never expected this," he breathes.  
  
Neither did I. No one had ever mentioned anything like it. And yet, somehow, it's easy to picture: my mother as a big green snake, carrying me around the house coiled in her tail, telling me stories in Parseltongue and letting me grab at her tongue. I'm not following in Voldemort's footsteps – I'm following in _hers_. And even though basilisks are cold-blooded, it makes me feel warm inside.  
  
"Why did my mum hide it?" I ask.  
  
"Three reasons: the Dark Lord, the Order of the Phoenix, and Hogwarts," he says. "Even then, there were rumors about the Dark Lord's connection to Cecilia Gaunt and the Gaunt clan. Openly joining the clan would earn her the Dark Lord's interest, when she wished to be neither recruited nor hunted."  
  
What would that have been like? Going to school at the height of the first war, a Muggleborn Gryffindor with pro-Muggle beliefs, and then becoming a _Gaunt_? My hood folds, my body curling tightly behind me. That must have been _awful_.  
  
"It's the other two that need explanation, Severus," Dumbledore says.  
  
Professor Prince seems almost relieved to look back at the Headmaster, away from me. "She already hoped to join _you_ , Albus, and your Order of the Phoenix. She feared that if she showed her clan openly, you'd think differently of her." He sneers. "As you already seem to."  
  
"I see," Professor Dumbledore says. He sounds sad, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "And Hogwarts?"  
  
"Gryffindor House would hardly appreciate her turning into a giant green snake. She feared ostracism. Bullying." A rather bleak smirk passes over Prince's features. "I suggested she change house, but she wouldn't hear of it. Concealing her shape was her solution." He looks back to me. "Though staying in human form for so long certainly wore on her. Eventually she took to casting privacy and security wards around her bed so she could at least sleep in her shape."  
  
"Who knew about this?" Dumbledore says, anger creeping back into his tone.  
  
"I knew, and she said she'd told Alice. But that was in our fifth year – I don't know who she told after that."  
  
"Why _did_ she tell you?" I ask, tilting my head, my forked tongue flicking out quizzically. "Sir?"  
  
"We... grew up in the same city," Professor Prince says, sounding a little strange again. "So we saw each other in the summers."  
  
"Do you have any evidence of this?" Dumbledore asks. I'm starting not to like how betrayed he seems, as if my shape is a personal affront. "Photographs? Notes? Anything?"  
  
"There's a picture," Professor Prince says, eyeing me for a second, "but I don't think she needs to see—"  
  
" _I_ would like to see it, Severus," Dumbledore says, in tones that brooked no argument. "And I can't imagine why you would object to showing a young girl a photograph of her mother."  
  
Without a word, Professor Prince turns away, his cloak billowing out behind him, and strides down the stairs. The moment his footsteps fade from hearing, Professor Dumbledore turns to me.  
  
"I think it might be wise for you to follow your mother's example in this matter," he says, "and conceal your shape." Professor McGonagall raises an eyebrow, turns to stare at Albus, but his eyes are fixed solidly on me.  
  
"No," I say. "I'm not going to hide who I am."  
  
"Why not?" he asks, looking distinctly disappointed. "Do you think your mother made the wrong choice?"  
  
"I don't," I say, glaring at Professor Dumbledore with my hood flaring out around me, "but my mum's situation was different. Professor Prince said she wanted to hide it from Voldemort, from you, and from Hogwarts. But Voldemort's eye is already on me – this can't be worse than being the Girl-who-Lived. You already know, so that one's definitely off the list. And I'm sure a lot of people won't like this, but it won't be the first time I've been ostracized at Hogwarts, and I doubt it'll be the last. I can deal."  
  
"And this... this is truly worth it to you?" he asks, sounding angry, frustrated. "To join _her_ clan?"  
  
"But it's not her clan," I say, my hood flared, my fangs out. "It's _my_ clan. My mother's clan. And I have no intention of letting Voldemort or anyone else take it from me."  
  
Feet stomp back up the stairs. "Well put, Miss Gaunt," says Professor Prince, seeming to relish in calling me a name other than Potter. My fangs retract, and I nod my head. Has he... _ever_ praised me before? A photo is clutched in his outstretched hand as he steps into the dormitory once more. I glance around the room – McGonagall also seems approving, while Dumbledore looks unhappy but resigned. "Here, take a look," he says, before holding the picture out in front of me.  
  
Standing on a grassy field, a basilisk with sparkling green scales is curled gently around a much younger Professor Prince in his enormous black bat shape, wings wrapped tightly around himself. She seems happy, her mouth open but her fangs hidden, her tongue occasionally flicking out to touch his nose or his huge long ears.  
  
I can't help but stare for a little while.  
  
"She does look just like me," I breathe. "I'm not even sure I can tell the difference." Then my mouth curls into a fang-baring smirk. "Aside from the fact that you'd never let _me_ hug you like that."  
  
Strangely, he doesn't bristle at the remark. "I'd just gotten my own shape — she's congratulating me." He gives me another of those looks, where he doesn't quite make eye contact. "You can have a copy of the photo, if you like."  
  
"Yes, please," I say, nodding. "I haven't seen much about what my mum was like away from my dad. Lupin and Sirius are nice, but they're more his friends than hers."  
  
"Lily's best friends were Alice Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon, and... and they're both dead, or Alice may as well be. So there's no one left to talk to." For some reason, this earns another glare from Dumbledore. "But she kept diaries, and a photo album. I'm not sure what happened to them after the war."  
  
"Everything left from the Potter home is in storage at Gringotts," Professor Dumbledore says. "Harriet can check with the goblins next time she's in Diagon Alley. Now, Severus, I'd like to see that photograph."  
  
He takes out his wand and casts a duplicating charm, setting the copy gently down on my bed. Then he turns and hands the original to Dumbledore. "Satisfied?"  
  
Dumbledore waves his wand – detection charms, really? – and I can see his face falling before he hands it back to Severus. "Indeed," he says stiffly. Then he turns to me. "Harriet, are you certain you want to go ahead with this? Everyone knows your name. Harry Potter, the Girl-who-Lived. You are a symbol of hope for the whole Wizarding world! And this is the name your father gave you. Now... especially now... are you sure you want to change?"  
  
"Professor, you know I didn't want this to happen. I wanted to be like my dad so, so much. But I changed anyway. All that's left to do now is deal with it. I know there are people who believe in me, but... why can't they believe in the real me?  
  
My eyes scan across the room. Professor Dumbledore still seems sad, disappointed. Professor McGonagall seems pleased – I bet she thinks it's brave of me. And Professor Prince has a sparkle in his eye that I've never, ever seen there before.  
  
"I'm _not_ Harry Potter. I'm Harry Gaunt."  
  
"Then go ahead and record it, Minerva," Dumbledore says.  
  
Professor McGonagall reopens the register and quickly scrawls my new clan name, before closing the book with a thud. "Is that all, Headmaster?" she asks, her voice just faintly frosty, apparently annoyed that this took so long.  
  
"Yes," Dumbledore says. "Good night, _Miss Gaunt_ ," he says, an unpleasant curl to the name. They walk off down the stairs, Professor McGonagall and Professor Prince looking much happier than the headmaster.  
  
Not long after, my poor roommates shuffle up the stairs and back into the dorm. Hermione seems fascinated by me, pacing around my body before standing in front of me.  
  
"So... you're a Gaunt?" Hermione asks quietly. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"  
  
"Yeah," I say with a nod. "I'm Harry Gaunt. And I feel great about it." I look over my body again, my sparkling green body, big and powerful, and my mouth pulls open. "I... I love my shape."  
  
Hermione pauses for a moment, just staring at me, her eyes dilating. Worrying about Voldemort, no doubt. But after a moment, she blinks slowly, steps a little closer, and then presses a paw to my scales. "Congratulations, Harry," she says.  
  
"Thanks, Hermione." I lower my head to rest atop hers, and we stay like that for a few moments before she steps away.  
  
"Congratulations," Parvati mumbles. "But why did it take so long? It only took two minutes for Hermione, and they didn't make us leave the room for that. And what was Prince even _doing_ here?"  
  
"Unless you wanted to possibly be _petrified_ ," Hermione says, "leaving the room was a good idea."  
  
"No one got petrified," I say, slithering over to my bed, setting the photo down on my nightstand. Do I have enough room to curl up under the covers, or...? "Professor McGonagall had my shape confirmed in like thirty seconds. It took so long because Dumbledore wanted me to hide my shape for some reason. Told him no."  
  
"Crazy old coot," grumbles Lavender, getting back into her bed.  
  
"He doesn't like snakes, that's for sure," I say, getting into bed. It's not quite big enough – even coiling myself up, my tail still trails onto the floor, but that's OK. "Good night, everyone. Sorry about the fuss."  
  
I pull the curtains closed, and – wait, how did I do that without arms? My mouth opens in a fang-y smile. Pureshape telekinesis. Wordless, wandless magic. I know a lot of Pureshapes can do it, but I didn't realize it would be so _easy_. I closed the curtains – and, actually, I put that photo away, too – without even _thinking_ about it.  
  
So what can I do when I _do_ think about it?  
  
I hiss a quiet warming charm, and my bed heats up, nice and comfortable. I lay my head down on the pillow, and fall almost instantly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really more of a spider girl, but noodles are nice too. :)
> 
> Thanks to GlassGirlCeci for beta reading! She gets a photo of Lily and Severus.


	2. The Red-Sealed Letter

Morning comes slowly. I feel as exhausted as if I'd fought another dragon, my muscles faintly sore. And I had the strangest dream...  
  
"Hey, Harriet," says Hermione, pulling the curtains open. Green reflections trace across them, clashing horribly with the maroon. "It's almost time for breakfast. How... how are you?"  
  
I raise my head, only to see my green snake scales sparkling in the sun through the windows. Oh. Wow. Okay. Not a dream, then.  
  
Hermione's expression turns worried as I sluggishly pull myself out of my nice warm bed, coiling up on the ground in front of her. Is she afraid I'm having second thoughts?  
  
"I feel like I could sleep for a month," I admit. "That took a lot out of me." I flick my tail, smiling at it. "But at least I'm still beautiful."  
  
Hermione's expression softens into a smile as she watches me stretch out. "You _are_ ," she whispers. "You're so shiny, it's almost like you're a sculpture, like you're made of some kind of metal. But we really should head down for breakfast..."  
  
I flick my tongue lazily at her. "I won't want to change back, if you keep talking like that," I tease, and Hermione blushes. But then I blink, staring at my scales. "Er... How _do_ I change back?"  
  
Hermione's smile sparkles with sudden humor. "Focus on feeling the differences between your shape and your human body," she says. "Like what you felt for your first change. I'm honestly not sure what it would be like for you, since you're so much bigger – feeling small, maybe? Or maybe feeling your arms and legs come back? I don't know. I hope you don't have to imagine that pain again, that looked really bad..." She looks more thoughtful. "I have a book about it somewhere if you can't get it right away. It's supposed to be different for everyone."  
  
"Aside from the pain, I... think the big thing is that I felt like a jack-in-the-box? All crumpled up..." I close my eyes, trying to remember it: that anvil-flattened feeling, my body smushed together. As I imagine, something _changes_. I tumble to the ground, my long snake body yanked out from under me, and I thrust my arms forward to catch my fall – _I have arms again!_ I open my eyes, looking out over my body, small, pink, and human once more.  
  
"Oh! That worked!" I stand up and then hug her, spinning her around with a strength that still feels more than human. "Thank you, Hermione!"  
  
"N-no problem," she stammers as I let go of her. She's blushing brighter than I've ever seen her before, even worse than that time I caught her snogging with Krum in an empty classroom. But why...  
  
... oh, right, I've got no robes on. And Hermione always has been shy. I smile sheepishly at her as I open my trunk, get myself dressed. "Anyway! Time for breakfast?"  
  
"Time for breakfast," Hermione enthusiastically agrees, not quite making eye contact.  
  
~~  
  
"Merlin, this feels awful!" I say, rubbing my legs through my robes as we walk down the many, many stairs between Gryffindor Tower and the Great Hall. "Not painful, but I don't want to feel scrunched together all day! Is it this bad for you? Because I am sorry for every _single_ time I made you turn human for something."  
  
"For me, it feels strange, but it's never been that bad. I certainly don't resent having to turn human..." Hermione seems more at ease now that I'm back in human form, looking just like always. I suppose it would be unsettling, your best friend turning into a giant basilisk. "They say the bigger and heavier your shape gets, the worse it feels to change back. I'm only a little bigger than human, but you're..."  
  
"A lot bigger, yeah," I complete. "So I'm just stuck with this." I groan. "Once I figure out that spell to make my robes vanish and reappear when I change, I am gonna be in my shape every single second I don't have to be human."  
  
"Might want to wait for it to filter through the rumor mill. I bet you'd get students pointing and staring."  
  
"If it's not on the cover of the Prophet today, it will be tomorrow," I grumble.  
  
"You've still got at least a day," Hermione says. "Lavender didn't have a chance to owl them the news yet."  
  
We both giggle. Poor gossipy Lavender.  
  
Then we turn the corner, and we're in the Great Hall. It's already bustling with activity – Hermione let me sleep in, with my change. But when we reach our usual spot at the Gryffindor table, Ron is bouncing on the edge of his seat, eyes wide. "Is it true, what Lavender said? Are you really–"  
  
I roll my eyes and cast a privacy charm, flicking my wand at Ron and Hermione to include them in the conversation. I like my shape, but I am _not_ ready to explain it to half the Gryffindor table, no matter how disappointed they look. Then I smile, sit down, and fill him in.  
  
"So you really are a snake," he says, fidgeting in his seat. "But you're not as big as that one from the Chamber of Secrets, right?"  
  
"Not... _quite_ as big," Hermione says, grinning at me.  
  
"Could be worse," I quip. "Could be a giant spider." I raise my hands toward him and wiggle my fingers, and Ron obligingly flinches away.  
  
"Not funny!" he yells.  
  
I giggle. "Sorry. But, um... more seriously, could you maybe warn Ginny for me?"  
  
"Why would she care?" Ron says. "She doesn't mind snakes. And she already _has_ her shape!"  
  
I grimace, sharing a glance with Hermione. "After her bad experience with... my clanmate... I figure it might be good to warn her that there'll be another Gaunt around."  
  
He winces. "Blimey, right... yeah, I'll tell her. Thanks for reminding me—"  
  
But Ron cuts off as a big long-eared owl with an intense red-eyed stare lands on the table in front of me, holding a letter on fancy parchment out to me. I take it, and it tilts its head, as if looking down its beak at me. Then it turns around and flies ponderously away.  
  
I break the red wax seal and open the letter.  
  
Copper-red ink sketches out an emblem of a rearing snake. Below that is a name, _Cecilia Gaunt,_ and below that, in smaller text, _Gaunt Library_.  
  
Oh. Oh, Merlin. A letter from Voldemort herself. I get the faintest sense that I shouldn't be reading this, and yet I cannot look away.  
  
Below that is the letter, written in black ink with graceful, flowing penmanship.  
  
 _Dear Harriet,_  
 _  
I received the notification of your status from the Ministry this morning. I must admit, I did not expect this – nor did anyone, I would imagine. I dearly wish I could have seen your Headmaster's face when he found out.  
_  
Despite myself, I laugh. She isn't wrong, after all – Professor Dumbledore did make some ridiculous faces.  
  
 _But despite our past, our places in society, and our politics, we are clanmates, and I fully intend to treat you as such._  
 _  
Please come to the Gaunt Library – our clan seat, a place that's as much yours as mine – for clan orientation as soon as you can. It houses our Clanstone, a powerful enchantment made many centuries ago that will protect all our clan within the library's borders. I understand that you might be afraid of me, given the rumors, but I assure you: You have nothing to fear from me there or anywhere, as I would never be so foolish as to harm a clanmate. I understand you might be hesitant to come alone, so please do bring a trusted companion along with you, someone powerful and experienced, who can protect you and verify the truth of my words. I would suggest your headmaster, if he is willing.  
  
You can come at whatever time is most convenient to you, but do send an owl ahead.  
  
With warm welcome,  
  
Cecilia Gaunt  
_  
The signature is loopy, almost a little silly, reminding me of any number of Hogwarts girls. But she isn't. She's _Lady fucking Voldemort_ , and I have no idea how to handle it.  
  
I stare at my friends – they've read it over my shoulder – and they look just as bewildered as I do. I catch Dumbledore's eye, only to see that he seems troubled. I almost get the sense that he's able to see the letter from all the way up at the high table. He takes out a big, flamboyant peacock-feather quill, scribbles a note, then folds it into a paper airplane and sends it winging its way over to my plate.  
  
 _Come to my office after breakfast – we need to discuss how you'll deal with your clanmate,_ the note says. _If that letter is from her, bring it with you._ _I might have some Fizzy Chips for you._  
  
"What are you gonna do?" Ron whispers, his face all screwed up.  
  
"I don't know," I say. "I just hope Professor Dumbledore can help."  
  
~~  
  
I frown up at the big gargoyle. It's time to meet Dumbledore, and there are dragons battling in my stomach. He's not still mad... is he? I'm in my human form, so hopefully he won't be feeling too reminded, at least...  
  
I glance down at the note. He really isn't subtle when it comes to giving passwords. "Fizzy chips," I say. The gargoyle obligingly swivels out of the way, and I start to walk up the spiral stairs. His office door is already open when I get there, to reveal Dumbledore surrounded by tall stacks of paper, looking worried and tired. I guess he didn't get a lot of sleep after I woke him up.  
  
"Hello, Harriet," he says gravely. "I'm glad you were still willing to come see me. I... I apologize for my rudeness after you discovered your form. I meant no harm, I was simply... shocked."  
  
"No, I get that," I say, fidgeting a little. "Lots of reasons you might be shocked. I'm still kind of shocked, a little. And I really don't know what to do with this..."  
  
I hold out the letter, and Professor Dumbledore takes it with shaky hands. He reads through it quickly, then again, humming at it.  
  
"What do you think of the letter?" he asks.  
  
"I think... she sounds a lot more reasonable than I would expect, and I'm not sure why – does she really think I'd forget who she is? But, I mean, she offered to let _you_ come with me, and she wouldn't normally do that, right? And I _definitely_ don't want to be alone with her – I mean, she said I'd be safe, but I don't know any of this stuff, I don't know if she's lying or anything..." I take a deep breath. "Er. Sorry."  
  
"No, no, I asked for your input," Professor Dumbledore says happily. "I can hardly complain of receiving so much of it. I don't believe she lied outright in this letter, though perhaps only because she expected me to read it. What Cecilia says about the Clanstone is very likely true – they are an ancient form of magic clans use, meant to enforce unity in the clan's private spaces. It is a certainty that Clan Gaunt has one, though I'd need to inspect it myself to be sure it can guarantee your safety. And even she is likely cowed by the universal magical penalties for murdering someone of her own clan, though they would not entirely prevent her from allowing _other_ people to kill you."  
  
I nod. "Okay. That's... better than I expected, at least." I roll my eyes. "She _has_ to know I'd neveractually go meet her, though."  
  
"Er..." Professor Dumbledore clears his throat. "There's something she didn't say directly, but very clearly implied." He hangs his head. "You are legally required to attend your clan orientation."  
  
"What?" I rear back, staring at him, and for just a moment he fixes paralyzed in place before I realize what I'm doing and release him. "You mean I _have_ to go hang out with fucking _Voldemort_?"  
  
"Please understand, the law never envisioned a case like yours. In dangerous clans, orientation is required so that older clanmembers can teach younger ones how to control their their inherent abilities. And Clan Gaunt has been registered as dangerous for seven hundred years." He closes his eyes. "I myself wrote the law that requires it. I promise, I had no idea this could happen."  
  
"So you think I can trust Voldemort to teach me _anything_?" I say indignantly. "What if she teaches me _wrong_ , so I hurt someone and get arrested? Why does the law just _assume_ my clanmate is trustworthy?"  
  
Dumbledore winces. "Because one's clan almost always is," he says sheepishly. "And your shape does mean that it will be hard to keep Voldemort from having more of a presence in your life. Should you attend a meeting of the Hall of Clans, for example, you will have to sit beside her in the Gaunt clan box. There are a few other scenarios in which it might be required by law." He inclines his head. "This is one of the reasons I had suggested you conceal your clan, actually."  
  
My gaze flickers down to the floor. "I... still don't regret not doing that," I say, "but this definitely makes it a harder sell. Can you protect me?"  
  
"Yes," he says. "As Cecilia alludes, you must be allowed to bring a trusted companion for all legally required portions of your clan orientation. So I will go with you, and I will be able to protect you. But I would suggest leaving as soon as possible, to give Cecilia less time to plan for your arrival. If you're willing, I shall owl her that you'll be arriving after lunch – one in the afternoon."  
  
My head spins. That's four hours from now. I'm meeting Voldemort in four hours. "Go ahead," I whisper bleakly.  
  
Dumbledore nods. "Good luck, Harry," he says. "Return to my office when you're ready to depart."  
  
~~  
  
I'm stretched out in front of the fire in the common room, basking in the heat as I flick my tongue nervously at Hermione.  
  
The Tower is empty – everyone else is at lunch in the Great Hall. But I can't eat, knowing that I'm about to face Lady Voldemort again. And Hermione is kind enough to keep me company, sitting in her favorite chair by the fire.  
  
"So have you thought about what you're going to do with your votes in the Wizengamot?" she asks. She's been trying to distract me all morning, but this time might actually work. I'd almost forgotten, with all the _other_ things on my mind, that Pureshapes control a whole branch of government – the Wizengamot's Hall of Clans. Citizen legislators, casting votes by owl since so few can attend sessions in person full-time. I've seen Hermione sitting in that very chair and doing her Wizengamot paperwork too many times to count.  
  
"You think V— er, my clanmate will let me vote?" I ask.  
  
"She can't stop you." Hermione grins, just a little mischievously. "A clan needs majority agreement to instate a voting structure – and your clan is just two people. So either you get your vote, or you can deadlock the clan. But I don't think she'd make you do it – that would look _terrible_."  
  
"What should I ask for? How many votes would be fair?"  
  
"The Gaunt clan, with you as a member, has four votes: one individual vote per member, plus two for the clan. The only fair way to split those up is, you get two and she gets two. If she offers you anything worse than that, deadlock."  
  
I nod, hissing gently as I rest my head on the rug.  
  
"And... I know you've never been too interested in politics, but I really do think you should do your own research and cast your own votes."  
  
"But most people in the Hall of Clans delegate to other members, right?" I ask. "So why can't I just delegate to you?" I slither closer to her, my head curling around the padded arm of her chair. "You're my best friend, and you're already making your own votes."  
  
"Most members do, but..." She swallows. "Harry, you're the Girl who Lived! Half of wizarding Britain looks up to you – you can be powerful and influential all on your own! But the only way you can do that is if you show you're making your own decisions."  
  
I tilt my head, thinking about it. That does sound attractive. I always wanted to make my own mark on the wizarding world, for something _other_ than getting blown up as an infant. I just never knew how.  
  
"And, I mean, it's not that hard to make your own votes!" she adds, seeming heartened by my apparent interest. "You've seen me doing my Wizengamot work – it doesn't take any longer than our Runes homework. Every week, I sit down with the _Register_ anda few newsletters – the London Owl's, and Dumbledore's Phoenix Party newsletter, and a few others about Muggle and Muggleborn rights. I compare them and consider what I prefer when they disagree, and then I write a few inches of parchment with my votes and owl it off to London. You don't have to do it _alone_ , either – sit with me, and we'll talk about it."  
  
"All right," I say, rubbing my head against her arm. "I... can't make any promises yet... but I'll think about it."  
  
Hermione smiles back, patting me on the top of my head. "That's all I can ask," she says. Then her grin turns a bit more mischievous. "So, have you thought about how you're going to use your new privileges? I love getting to go to London all the time, and—"  
  
She cuts off as an invisible bell tolls around my neck. My alarm charm. My head droops as Hermione suddenly looks concerned.  
  
"I have to go," I mutter. It's time for me to meet my clanmate. To meet Lady Voldemort. And I am _terrified_.  
  
Hermione rubs my head one last time. "Good luck," she whispers.  
  
I slither out of the common room, toward the Grand Staircase – and right into a little first-year girl who screams and run away. "Sorry!" I call, as her little footsteps recede down a side hallway.  
  
And yet, strangely, I feel a little better.  
  
As I steel myself to meet Lady Voldemort, it's good to remember that _I'm_ scary now, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta read by GlassGirlCeci, who receives a beautiful but pompous long-eared owl.
> 
> As you can see, I'm going the politics route with this! Politics tends to get a bit of a bad rap in the fanfiction community as it's often an excuse for pompous posturing, insular nobility, and Dumbledore being very, very evil. I'm trying a different take on it here, so hopefully this will be a bit more interesting than the usual fare.


End file.
